


A New Tradition

by notimetoblog



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Fluff, Christmas fic, F/M, Nothing but sweetness here, bucky fluff, fluffy fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:09:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21798556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notimetoblog/pseuds/notimetoblog
Summary: Will this new tradition bring on more than just Christmas cheer?
Relationships: Bucky & Reader, Bucky Barnes & Reader, Bucky Barnes / reader, James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader, bucky / reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello… is this thing on?? Hi guys!!! It’s been a long long time and I’m very happy to be back. Its been about five months since I last wrote something new so coming back and posting is a bit scary. I hope you like this little fic I’ve been working on though. The inspiration hit randomly and a few days later BAM I was on the third chapter lol.. Thank you so much for your support throughout these last few months and thank you so much for reading this one. I really TRULY hope you like it.

The city is aglow with countless of twinkling Christmas lights. They flicker and dance and play, catching Bucky’s eyes and filling them with wonder. Christmas was not this bright when he was younger. It wasn’t welcomed with the scent of cinnamon or with over the top sales. Christmas was quieter. It was cold. And although his mother made all her efforts to make it happy, the sense that this was only one day in an entire year meant for merriness and cheeriness took a more prominent place in Bucky’s mind the older he got.  
He walks with purpose, snow and ice crunching beneath his boots as he makes his way past the many people stopping to take pictures of the very lights that had just captured his mind. Their excitement and happiness evident by the way they just cant seem to stop chit chatting bout the wonder of it all.

His mom would love this, he thought, the lights once again entering his thoughts.  
She would love the displays in the window shops. She would love the enormous bow propped on the side of the toy store he was across from. She would enjoy all the lights and all the warmth that Christmas now brought. 

And he likes to think she would love the man he was now. He hopes, anyway. 

He’d been through a lot. He’d seen a lot. He’d seen the darkness of the world and had somehow survived it all to now get the chance to see the brightness of the Christmas lights. 

He likes to think his mom would be proud of that. He really hopes. 

Forgiveness had not been easy. Not when the world constantly, and rightly, brought up time and time again all the atrocities he was behind. Not when memories replayed in his moments of silence. But slowly, it began. Many months in therapy and with Sam by his side, he began to reach forgiveness. He’s still a work in progress, and he’s not ashamed to admit that, but at least now he can look at the lights and smile. At least now he can think back to his mom and think she’d be happy for him. And that was more than he could ever hope for. 

His steps slow as he realizes that lost in his thoughts, he walked past his destination. 

He was asked to pick up a few supplies. She’d made him a list because he had been honest and let her know he didn’t recognize what half of the things she’d listed were. 

When he was younger, he reflected again, as he began walking back to the store he passed two blocks ago, receiving oranges in his stocking was life-changing. The thought of the sweet juice of the oranges he got to taste only a few times a year was enough to have his mouth watering in July. And on Christmas Day, when he got to have one of those oranges, he swore there could be nothing in the world that could make him happier. 

He needed to stop by the grocery store and get some oranges, he notes. It was almost Christmas after all. 

But first, he needs to take care of getting a couple of things here. 

The bright fluorescent lights of the store are uncharacteristically welcoming. They bring a stark contrast to the grogginess and cold of the outside. 

Aisles and aisles of paper, glitter, paints, easels, fabric, yarn, all sprawled out in front of him. He’d be overwhelmed, but he’d visited her apartment before, and this store was nothing compared to the collection of materials she somehow squeezed into the tiny apartment she called home. 

“We all have our thing, Buck,” she had said the first time he saw her supply closet, laughing at how his jaw dropped. “You like to run and punch things. I like to craft. How else would we keep our sanity if he didn’t have at least one hobby?”

That had been almost a year ago. A mission gone wrong and long had both Sam and him crashing in her place unannounced. She hadn’t minded, simply pushing her scrapbook papers around to make room for them in her small living room.

But now, as the many many lights had made evident, Christmas was here, and he saw a different side of her and this hobby. 

She excitedly told him over the phone that she had woken up and decided to start a new tradition and that he was more than welcomed to join. She couldn’t reach Sam as he was on a mission and keeping a low profile, and she couldn’t wait for him to start. 

That was very much like her. Determination suddenly springing into action. Usually, at 6 am.

“Well, that sounds interesting,” he drawled, trying to shake the sleep from his voice. “Does it involve food, because I’m in if it does.”

“I mean it could,” she chuckled, “I could get some pizza.”

“So, what exactly is this ab-”

“Christmas Cards!” she cut him off. “I want to make Christmas cards this year instead of buying them. You know, personalize each one.”

“That’s…. well, that’s just plain adorable,” he found himself saying with a smile. 

“Wanna help?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea how to make Christmas cards,” he admitted. 

“That’s ok! I can teach you. We can make one for each of our countless friends,” she laughed, and he joined her. He could probably count his friends on one hand. 

“So, we’re making one for Sam, and that’s it.”

“I mean, we can extend the definition of friend a little. We can make one for Sharon; she is one of my friends. And she’d be very disappointed if after everything you didnt consider her one of your friends too. Another one for Pepper, maybe Peter and his aunt, oh and one for Bruce!”

“All in one go?”

“Not if we want them to be nice,” she said, and he suddenly thought back to the way his mom’s tone would change when he missed something obvious. Like when he frantically searched for the shoes, he had already put on. “Maybe meet a couple of times, to wind down after hard days, and we can have them ready by Christmas. I can help you start your own supply closet. You in?”

“I was in as soon as you mentioned pizza,” he laughed. “When’s our first meeting?”

And so, they had scheduled the beginning of this new tradition for tonight. She had written him a list of a few supplies she hoped he could get on his way to her place. 

And now with whatever embossing powder and Versamark ink were, he was on his way. A new tradition he knew he would love about to begin.


	2. Sweater Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will this new tradition bring on more than just Christmas cheer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!!! Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it! All cards mentioned in this series are inspired by Kristina Werner's Holiday Card Series. You can see pictures and a tutorial for this chapter's card [here](http://www.kwernerdesign.com/blog/holiday-card-series-2018-day-2-heat-embossed-sweater-card/)

“Exactly how tired are you?” she asks as soon as she opens her door. She’s every bit of cozy he wishes he was in her slippers and PJs. She sure did know how to relax.

Before he’s even in her apartment he can sense the way she’s invited Christmas into her home. The delicate smell of cinnamon invades his senses, and he’s not complaining.

He really hadn’t thought about it, about how tired he is, not even for a second. The lights and thoughts of the man he’d become keeping him busy on his way here. He did tend to get deeply philosophical when left to his own devices. Who else would conjure up thoughts of making his mom proud and forgiveness on a simple walk to a friend’s house?

He is tired, though.

Coming home from missions was always different. Sometimes he slept for days. Other times he needed to break his mind free of whatever hell they were forced to endure, so he occupied his mind with jogs, life’s questions, and as she put it - with ‘punching stuff.’

She was similar in this way. Her wind downs from missions took on many forms. But her most common one was crafting. She’d get lost in that world for a few days, and then Sam and he would suddenly get handmade gifts delivered to their door. Now that he’s thinking about it, their home was sprinkled with her gifts. On their windowsills, their table, in their rooms.

This time, though, he’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t been excited about this new tradition. He had slept for as long as he could and then immediately checked in with her to see if their meetup was still in place. The excitement of making something new almost too much to bear. He had left the darkness and silence of his room, and much to his surprise, he wasn’t dreading it every other second.

“It's cold out there,” he replies to her question, not entirely a lie but not entirely truthful either. “That’s all.”

“So those dark circles under your eyes are because of the cold.”

It’s not a question because she knows the answer. But still, he secretly thanks her for simply stepping aside to let him in. She knew very well it wasn’t the most comfortable topic to talk about- tiredness. He was always tired, so coming up with new reasons for it or new ways to deal with it only added to the exhaustion.

“I got you your stuff,” he says, shaking the bag with her supplies. He guesses he could say it’s _their_ supplies since this is _their_ new tradition, but for some reason, he still feels like he’ll simply be an observer to whatever it is she creates tonight.

She almost bounces on her feet as she reaches for the bag, immediately pulling out the ink pads and the tiny bottles of powder.

“Gah, you’re the best, Buck! I ordered your pizza,” she beams, and he’s sure she feels the same about calling the pizza theirs as he does about calling it their supplies. Something probably tells her she’ll only be observing him scarfing down the pizza, but he’s a gentleman, he’ll share a slice.

“So, who are we making this card for?” he asks, finally shedding off some of the layers he wears, hanging them on the coatrack by her couch. He overdoes it every time he steps out in the New York winter, but he doesn’t care. He’d rather wear three layers, gloves, and boots, then be cold again.

“It’s for Sammy! And take off those boots too, B,” she scrunches her nose as she points to them. They’re wet and covered in slosh, and he visibly cringes as he spots the trail he’s left on her hardwood floor.

“I have a pair of socks from the last time one of you guys crashed here. You can wear those.”

“Are they mine?” he asks, plopping on her couch, undoing the knots of his laces all the while keeping his feet in the air. Her gray, soft, fluffy rug much too nice to ruin. “You know Sam is weird about stuff like that.”

She’s made her way down the small hall into her bedroom, and he takes his time to take in her small place.

He wanted something like her apartment for himself. Something small and cozy. Most apartments now looked almost clinical with blank bare white walls that seemed to attract the cold. He couldn’t complain about sharing a place with Sam, his cooking abilities made up for his snores, but he still hoped he would be able to have a place of his own.

Her plush couch is pressed against a corner that connected an exposed brick wall to a wall that’s mostly made of one window and next to the heater. A few red throw pillows decorate the couch with Christmas themed designs. One has a snowflake while another has a snowman. His favorite, though, is the Santa Claus. It’s jolly smile and rosy cheeks was almost too cute not to love. Even he couldn’t deny that. She hated the cold and darkness as much as he did, so her heater was on, and her curtains drawn back allowing the glow of the Christmas lights on the windows of the buildings surrounding hers to enter.

In front of her couch is a small wooden coffee table. She has a tiny Christmas tree in the center that couldn’t be taller than a foot. He remembers she had fussed a bit about it because she couldn’t find lights small enough for the tree to support. Everything she tried just weighed the tree over to one side. She finally resigned to decorating it with some yarn and paper ornaments she had made. It looked perfect, but she still mentioned every now and then that she had a new lead to where she could find small enough lights.

The kitchen was right by the front door. It was small and simple with white cabinets. It only had the essentials, but she had mentioned what got her to settle here was the fact that it had an island that served as both a counter and a dining table. It did an excellent job of keeping the kitchen and living room separated despite there being no actual wall. She had, of course, added touches to bring in the holiday spirit. A snowman and reindeer figurine rested by her sink, and some white fluff surrounded them to make it seem like snow. She had also added some padding to the silver stools she lined around the island, to keep them warm.

“They’re black, Buck,” he hears her say as she reappears from her room throwing him the balled-up socks then moving to begin drying up his mess. “I don’t know whose they are, but just wear them, ok?”

“Where should I leave these?” he asks, trying his best not to move his boots too much. He’d already caused her enough trouble. “Outside?”

“No,” she chuckles. “What will people say if they see a pair of men’s boots outside my door. I have a reputation to uphold, Barnes.”

“The boots they’ll have a problem with?” he wonders aloud, playing along with her game as he takes off his freezing socks to wear the warm ones she tossed him. If there was anything in the world that she didn’t care for, it was others’ opinion about her. “Not the fact that two actual men randomly crash in your place. Or the fact that our job isn’t exactly suitable for all audiences.”

“You’re not random. My neighbors may not say much, thankfully, but they’re not idiots. They do know that the men that sometimes stay here are Captain America and his sidekick. I mean, the Winter Soldier.”

“So, the boots?” he says, grinning at being labeled Sam’s sidekick. They both knew who the actual sidekick was. They had differing opinions, but they both knew.

“Just put them outside,” she laughs.

“I like your tree,” he comments as he walks towards the door. “But don’t you think it’s a little big for your place?”

“If I got a bigger tree, I’d have to move out,” she quips, scrolling through her phone.

He shuts the door after tossing his boots outside into the hallway of the building with no real care and starts to hear the growing sound of Christmas music. Mariah Carey. He’s heard this song before — multiple times. Sam sang it at every opportunity he had. Singing was too nice of a word though. Sam didn’t sing it, he screeched it.

“Can’t craft without some Christmas songs,” she sends him a smile.

“I can’t craft, period. And it’s going to be even harder without that pizza you promised.”

“It’ll be here in like 15 minutes,” she says, eyes-rolling. “In the meantime, you can tell me all about what happened in the last mission. What’s been keeping you up? It’s been a few days, right?”

She’s sitting on her couch now, legs pressed up against her chest, and she waits.

“15 minutes of this, and then you help me move on from it by crafting and eating up a storm. Deal?”

There was no use fighting it. He’d learned he felt better after talking about things anyway.

“Deal,” she says.

And so he begins. He tells her how he and Sam had to claw their way out of an abandoned Hydra facility. He’d never been there before, thankfully, but the Hydra feel was still strong despite the years it had been abandoned. They hadn’t encountered agents, but they had triggered a defense mechanism that caved in the entire place. Leave it to Hydra to destrooy their own base just to make sure their evil touch remained intact. Drama queens.

“15 minutes is all you need to go through all of that?” she whispers, completely enthralled by his narration.

“No, not necessarily,” he admits. He knows denying it would be too big of a lie to tell her. “It’ll be a few sessions with the therapist for sure, but tonight was about a new tradition, wasn’t it? And I need a distraction right now. My mind’s not ready to dive deep into all of the things that experience brought up.”

And as if on cue, her buzzer rings. The pizza. Old reliable pizza. He always knew he could count on it.

Soon, they’re on her floor. The coffee table pushed aside as they eat and talk about nothing, really. And it’s great.

“Ok, but now we actually have to craft,” she laughs, turning up the music she had quieted as they spoke.

The empty pizza box is now on the pushed-aside coffee table. He’d been even nicer than he thought. He had shared more than one slice.

“What exactly are we doing?” he asks, standing to let some circulation back to his legs.

“Well, isn’t that a well-timed question?” she mocks. “I was just about to tell you.”

She’s on her feet then, sprinting to her famed supply closet by her door.

“You know the things you bought? We’re using them to make a pattern on the card with these stamps!”

She shows him a stamp set labeled Cozy Christmas Stamp Set. It has clear stamps of snowflakes, hearts, and a Christmas tree all in a pattern made to look as if they’re knitted. It also has a few greetings, all having to do with having a cozy Christmas.

“Why this one in particular?” he wonders. She said she hoped to personalize each card, so he wondered what about these stamps screamed Sam.

“He’s got a strong sweater game, B,” she responds, grabbing the bag of supplies he’d gotten. “You know he always liked Steve’s sweaters too, especially after he went and got himself all… well, you know...”

He thinks he does know, but he loves seeing her finding a way to say it.

“Got himself all what?”

“You know,” she tries again.

“I really don’t,” he lies.

“When Steve went and got himself all grandpa-d up,” she states with a sigh of defeat. “His sweaters were the epitome of sweater weather and Sam, no matter how much he denies it, loved every bit of it.”

He can’t help but laugh. Grandpa Steve, as she called him, did have nice sweaters. He’d left a couple behind for Sam to wear before he left after discreetly noticing Sam kept eyeing a few. Bucky still didn’t quite understand the new rules of time, so he couldn’t exactly say where he had left to. What he did know was that for some reason, Sam didn’t mind sharing sweaters with Steve the same way Bucky knew he would mind sharing socks with him. Must be a Cap thing.

“So, here’s the plan,” she continues, laying the stuff on her island as he settles on top of one of her stools. He’s more than grateful for the covers she had on them. “We stamp these on blue cardstock with the ink you got, and then — well, then I’ll show you some magic.”

“Magic,” he repeats. “What kind of magic?”

“You’ll see,” she laughs as she goes back to the closet, bringing out some cardstock and a couple of materials he’s never seen before.

“See this right here is a heat gun. We use it to reveal the magic.” She lifts a black cylinder-type object. Plugging it in, she turns it on, and he immediately understands the name. It blows out hot air, like a hairdryer. Feels pretty good on his hands for a few seconds before it gets way too hot. “And this,” she says, lifting a small board with a clear plastic cover. It has ruler markings around the borders and a grid in the center. “This is our stamp positioning tool. If we want to get the perfect placement for our stamp, we lay our cardstock right here on top of the grid, and we put our stamp right where we want it. Then we close the cover, and the stamp sticks to it! All we got to do is ink the stamp, close the cover and press!”

“Clever,” he says.

“Isn’t it?”

She’s more than giddy. She’s beaming, warming up her cozy place even more than before with her bright eyes and warm smile.

This is like her Christmas, he thinks.

“Why don’t you start taking out the stamps, and I’ll get the cardstock ready.”

He follows her instruction, opening the stamp package and peeling the stamps from their backing. All the while, she’s meticulously measuring a piece of navy-blue cardstock, cutting it with expertise, and folding it in half to create the card base.

“All right, B. You ready for some magic?!”

“Always,” he chuckles at her excitement.

She opens the stamp positioning tool, placing the cardstock on top of the grid-area. Then, she reaches for the main greeting stamp which reads “COZY” in a knitted font and carefully lines it up at the center, towards the bottom. Once happy, she motions for him to get closer.

“Ok, all you have to do is close the plastic cover, press, and then open it.”

He does as he’s told, and as she had explained before, the stamp sticks to the cover.

“Now ink it,” she says excitedly.

She hands him the ink he bought on his way here and his brows furrow when no ink transfers to the stamp.

“Don’t worry,” she laughs, “the ink is clear.”

“Why would we stamp with clear ink?” He’s more than confused.

“It’s all part of the magic, Buck,” she giggles, waving away his concern. “Just trust me. OK, now close the cover again and press as hard as you can.” She gasps when she realizes what she’s said immediately understanding he _will_ press as hard as he can. “But don’t break it!”

He does, and when he opens it again, he can barely make out the clear “COZY” against the navy-blue of the cardstock.

“He won’t be able to see this,” he says with a small shake of his head. “_I_ can barely see it,”

He tries to get her to change her mind and maybe use ink with color, but she only pulls out the powder he bought.

“Nope, we’re using this.”

She swiftly tears a few napkins from her roll and lays them down, placing the stamped cardstock on top.

“I’m so excited!” she almost yells. “Here, open this little tub of powder,” she says, handing him what he had stopped to buy, “and just dump some of it on top of the cardstock.

He gives her a questioning look, but she sighs and gestures for him to do it. And so, he does, the napkin catches the surplus of powder, and after shaking the card a little, he sees that some of it has stuck to the stamped “COZY.”

“It’s acting like a glue,” she says, “the powder sticks to whatever is stamped.”

The stamp is now coated in a gray powder, and he’s beginning to understand. She had asked for silver embossing powder, and something tells him the magic part still hasn’t happened.

“Now, we use the heat gun. Here you do it.”

He thinks back to when he thought she’d be doing most of the work. Definitely not the case.

He turns on the heat gun, it gives them a gentle whir sound, and she motions him to aim it at the powder, moving the gun side-to-side. Somehow the music still playing in the background swells right on time.

And his eyes go wide.

Gone is the dull gray powder. Instead, it melts into a bright silver, reflecting, glossy coating.

She’s somehow managed to make silver right before his eyes. Well, she hadn’t done it, but she had taught him.

“Cool, huh?” she chuckles as she takes the heat gun from his hand. She scans his face smiling at the wonder that’s surely etched on his features. “Magic.”

“Magic,” he repeats as he tilts the cardstock marveling at how it glistens under her kitchen lights.

“Now, we do it again!”

They take turns filling up the card with the snowflake, and heart, and the Christmas tree stamps. His favorite part is always the melting of the powder, and she’s kind enough to let him do just that every time. Soon their card is full and reads “Have Yourself a Cozy Little Christmas.”

“It’s missing something,” she states as she observes Bucky yet again tilting the card from side to side.

It really does look like a Christmas sweater. It had been a simple blue piece of cardstock, but somehow, they had managed to make it a Christmas sweater— a warm, cozy, soft sweater. One that Sam would definitely wear on Christmas. Bucky would make fun of him, but now that he’s thinking about it, he’d probably get one for himself. A blue one, with snowflakes, and Christmas trees, just like their card.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed; all he knows is that he’s more than happy he agreed to this new tradition. He’s helped make something beautiful, and that’s something he was sure he’d have a hard time saying. But he realizes he isn’t having a hard time. No. Instead he wants Christmas to come fast so that he can give the card to Sam and proudly say he helped make it.

“Maybe some color,” he drifts from his thoughts to hear her thinking out loud. “I got it!”

She disappears for a second only to come back with two tiny red glittery hearts in the palm of her hands.

“We love Sam, don’t we?”

“I’ll agree with you, but you’re not allowed to tell him,” he jokes.

“Our secret,” she says with a smile.

She carefully places the two hearts on opposite sides of the “Have Yourself A” part of the greeting. And she was right. Their card was missing just that pop of color.

“Now, it’s perfect.”

A smile spreads on his lips as he takes it all in. Here in her cozy apartment, with materials he had never before seen, he’s made something beautiful, and he couldn’t wait to make more.

“Now for some tea and some cleanup,” she breaks the silence with a laugh. “I’ll make tea. You clean up.”

And frankly, he’d do anything. He knows he got the worst part of that deal, but does it matter? He’s found such a sense of peace through this experience that he’s happy to clean up the mess they’d make if it meant he got to come back and do it again.

He’d seen magic. A magic that made the beauty of the Christmas lights fade into the background.


	3. A Piece of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will this new tradition bring on more than just Christmas cheer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Hi!!! Here is the third chapter of A New Tradition! I had a blast writing this one so I truly hope you guys enjoy it. You can listen to the playlist they listen to here. Thank you so very much for reading :D All cards mentioned in this series are inspired by Kristina Werner's Holiday Card Series. You can see pictures and a tutorial for this chapter's card [here](http://www.kwernerdesign.com/blog/holiday-card-series-2019-day-10-simple-glitter-snowflake/)

Bucky Barnes is a trained soldier, expert sniper, an ex-assassin, and spy. One look at his Wikipedia page could confirm all of the above. He is sure of it because scrolling through their Wikipedia pages had been a night they’d all regretted immediately. By the end of the night, Sam had been blocked from making anymore edits to any Wikipedia page, ever. Apparently writing in that he was “the people’s sexiest man alive despite what People magazine’s clueless editors may think” and “the best thing that ever happened to spandex” was against their rules. But back to the matter at hand, Bucky’s been trusted with classified information and managed not to break any type of confidentiality. And yet every time he looks at Sam, he has to bite his tongue to keep himself from blurting out, “Hey Sam, we made you a card!”

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold it in,” he admits. “I think he knows.”

Its been a week since they made Sam’s card, and he’s finally back in her apartment, fingers on the verge of twitching with excitement. He would’ve come sooner, but Sam was back home, and trying to come to her place and leaving Sam behind was proving to be complicated. The man was persistent, and if Bucky’s honest, just straight up nosy. 

“He does not know, Buck,” she says, sipping on the cup of tea she’s just brewed.  
The scent of apple and cinnamon surrounds him, and he regrets telling her he didn’t want any. 

“But I think he does. He looks at me funny.”

She scoffs as if to say, ‘amateur.’

“You’re excited, and that’s adorable, but if you ruin the surprise, Barnes, I’ll cut you off from embossing powder.”

“It’s not adorable,” he tries to say this seriously, but his choice of words is not helping his case. “He’s asked me a few times what I’m getting him for Christmas.”

“So? That’s a pretty normal question this time of year.”

“Yeah, but he says it like he knows something.”

Her inability to see the gravity of the situation is frustrating. He’s on the verge of spilling what they made for Sam, and she’s calmly sipping on some tea purposefully ignoring the dangers around them. Mainly Bucky’s apparent and newly discovered inability to keep his mouth shut.

“Bucky, hun, look at me.”

She calls him — well both Sam and him— hun sometimes. It’s nothing extraordinary, he knows, but it feels nice to hear a term of endearment aimed in his direction. Hydra wasn’t known for addressing him with that kind of language. 

“I’m looking,” he says, reaching out for that teapot on her stove because dammit it smells too good to ignore.

“Sam does this every year. He shakes the boxes underneath your guys’ Christmas tree, Buck! Just because he’s asking you doesn’t mean he knows anything.”

“But what if I slip and tell him?”

“You won’t,” she says. Her voice is confident, her eyes not so much. “You can’t.”

“But I kinda want to.” Now it’s him sipping the tea. And he’s more than sure she’s aware of that tiny glint of teasing in his eyes. 

“That’s one of the biggest lies I’ve ever heard,” she laughs, and he can’t help but join her. She sees his tiredness and calls out his BS — that’s why this friendship works. “You want to keep the surprise a secret, but your excitement is making it hard for you. First time crafters are so pure.”

“So, what you’re saying is that I’ll become corrupted the longer I do this thing?” 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. You won’t buy another gift in your life. You’ll make all of them instead, and your friends will all hate you for it because, for goodness sake, they just wanted that cool jacket they talked about last week.”

“I’m not getting you that jacket,” he teases, thinking back to her super-not-casual hint dropping that consumed all their conversations last week. “You have five of them already.”

“Yes, but I don’t have a black one,” she smiles, lifting her teacup towards him. It’s cute; she thinks she’s won. 

He’s not sure what he’s going to get her, but it one hundred percent won’t be that jacket. She really did have five of them already, so her closet would thank him for not doing it. But then again, he eventually did have to figure something out. 

“You’re getting a card. Sorry.”

“You can get me the jacket and the card,” she winks. “And if you make the card, that’ll be even better.”

“Fine, then you’re getting a coupon book for Michael’s. You’ve given them enough of your paycheck. The best thing you can do is be a little more wise.”

“Don’t even play with that,” she muses, tea long forgotten, a smile at her lips. “You’ll get that idea in my head and when I don’t get it I’ll be disappointed. You know how much I love Michael’s. And by the way, what do you want for Christmas?”

There’s not much he needs. He doesn’t need a new jacket, or a new phone — barely uses the one he has now— and that Slurpee machine Sam has been lusting over is certainly not something he needs. He’d probably sound too much like him mom if he said all he could hope for was health, so he’s stuck. 

“Aw come on, Bucky,” she says, noticing his hesitation. “Help a girl out.”

He settles for a somewhat playful response. Setting his tea down to give this moment the gravitas it needs. 

“If you can get me some peace and quiet, I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”

“That’s all it takes to get you to love someone?” She raises her eyebrows, suddenly grabbing her phone and unlocking it. “I’ve got a few people to pass along this message to.”

He rolls his eyes because he’s not stupid. He may not be the most eloquent around women, but he does know he’s caught the eye of a few SHIELD agents and staff. A guy knows that sort of stuff, and even if he didn’t, she and Sam made sure to make it painfully obvious. He’d heard his name and that of Kristen from Statistics mentioned multiple times, in every sing-songy kind of way. Often times in the most inappropriate moments. An enemy agent had once heard both her and Sam singing it up through Bucky’s comms, that had not been a pretty debrief. 

“You’re not sharing that information with anybody.” Knowing her, she just might send a message to someone, or the entire staff directory, so he snatches her phone and puts it in his back pocket. “Or I’ll tell Sam about his card.”

“Just trying to get you some love for Christmas is all,” she shrugs, standing up to set her teacup in her sink, and he has to remind himself to put her phone in an even safer place. She’s bound to find a way to get it back from him. When he least expects it, it’ll be back in her hands. “But since you refuse, what do you say we make a card instead?!”

Good! A distraction. Whether it was a distraction for her or him, he still wasn’t sure, so when her back is turned and she’s rummaging through her supplies, he puts her phone in the zipper pocket of his jacket. If she was planning an attack, it would have to come form the front and he’d be prepared.

“I did get you an early Christmas present, though,” she says, and he knew it was coming. He just thought she’d wait a little longer and, you know, maybe be more discreet. 

“Let me guess; you need your phone for it?”

“Serum gives you big muscles AND big brains,” she laughs as she juggles whatever it is she’s brought out for the card. “I won’t tell the world how to win your heart, Buck, I promise. Even if by keeping this secret I’m breaking a certain statistician’s heart. But at least get close enough to me so that Siri will hear me.”

“I’ll stay right here until I can trust you again,” he says, taking the supplies from her as she half-yells to the phone in his pocket. He makes a show of planting his feet where he is.

“Hey, Siri? Play the “Buck’s Christmas” playlist, please.”

Two little dings confirm Siri understood, and soon the room fills with jolly trumpets and the unmistakable sound of Big Band music. 

“Thought I’d bring you a little bit of home,” she smiles, gauging his reaction. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

“Bing Crosby’s always good,” he smiles back, giving in to the urge of tapping his foot to Santa Claus is Comin’ To Town as he sets down the stuff on her island. Seems the roots he had planted a few seconds ago weren’t that deep after all. Something about the trumpets just made him want to move. 

It indeed was a little bit of home. The sounds of his childhood and teen years surrounding him, enveloping in a hug he didn’t know he was longing for. But now that it was here, he gives into it, chases the warmth. 

“Come here,” he says, unable to stop himself. It’s what he would’ve done if he was back home, or what he would’ve wished he could do, anyway. His past-self would kick himself all the way home if he didn’t at least try. 

He pulls her closer, one arm around her waist, his other hand on hers as he pulls her into a slow and gentle dance just as the song shifts to White Christmas.

He often forgets his metal hand can be gentle, but this is the very thought that crosses his mind as he notices it’s the hand that lays softly at her waist. There it is. He’s come to accept it. Besides, this isn’t the hand that he used to kill so many. This is the hand that was given to him by the Wakandan royal family. A hand he used to help bring back some order to the universe after that mad titan had snapped half of them away. It was an addition to his body he could be proud of. One that brought good.

“Well, that pulled out the softie in you,” she says, a shy chuckle barely escaping her. “Told ya it was an early Christmas present. I’ll share the playlist with you if you’d like. Maybe you’ll dance with Sammy too.”

“Maybe I will,” he jokes. “He’s not a bad dancer, you know?”

“You know who this is?” she asks with a nod of head towards her speaker as he slowly moves them towards the center of her living room. 

“Nat King Cole,” he responds without a doubt. “Wasn’t technically alive to hear this one when it was released,” he says, referring to The Christmas Song that plays now, “but it’s played enough now that I know. And you can’t really confuse his voice.”

“Big brains,” she repeats from before making him laugh. 

“Who’s this card for?” he asks, bringing their gentle swaying to a stop as Nat King Cole’s voice fades around them. Arms dropping from around her and she takes a half step back.

Her voice is soft, not trying to break the peace this little piece of home has brought to the room, “Sharon.” 

“Are we using the powder again?” his voice gets a tad too high for his liking, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s excited. 

Music and card making, who would’ve known this is what would make him happy. He better not say anything, though, or that message would be spread.

“Yes, we are,” she gives him a warm look, bringing out a tiny bottle from a small bin she’s brought out. “And we get to use some die-cuts! Big day for you, Buck.”

The big plan for today is to make Sharon a card that reads “Joyful Christmas Greetings.” It’s only going to have one giant snowflake stamped to the background of it, much to Bucky’s disappointment, but they get to use a new kind of embossing powder. One that sparkles, apparently. Then they’ll die-cut the ‘joyful’ part of their greeting and use a sentiment strip sheet to complete the greeting. The final touch will be adding tiny adhesives that look like raindrops, which will ‘make it more than perfect.’

“I feel I can trust you with the stamping. You’ve earned that right after we stamped the night away last time.”

“Big day for me indeed,” he teases as he takes the giant stamp she hands him. “Are we using the stamping board today?”

“You know, I didn’t think we should, but now that you mention it, maybe we should just in case the snowflake doesn’t stamp right the first time. That way, we have stamp positioned in the same place if we need to stamp a second time.”

He’s about to respond, but she cuts him off.

“One card-making session, and you’re a pro.”

“What can I say? I learn fast.”

She takes care of the cardstock like the last time, her fingers deftly folding, cutting, measuring. Before he can say anything, the card is ready to go. It’s a red card this time.

“All yours, B.”

“Hand me the ruler,” he begins, putting on his best serious look, “gotta double-check the measurements on this card.” 

She bumps his shoulder, and instead of handing him the ruler, she gives his arm a playful swat with it.

“Take your cockiness somewhere else, Barnes. No room for ego when we craft.”

“So serious,” he teases. It’s so easy around her. “But fine, forget the ruler, hand me the stamping board.”

She mocks salutes him before she complies with his request.

“Place the stamp somewhat to the side. It looks cool like that,” she suggests. “Too centered, and it looks like any other card. To the side says innovation, creativity, revolution!”

“What happened to no room for ego when we craft?” 

He stamps the snowflake as she asked, and his favorite part is finally here. He pours the embossing powder she’s selected, and she was right. It sparkles, full of glitter, and he knows he’ll be picking glitter out of the grooves of his metal hand for the entirety of the new year, but it’s hard to be upset when it’s so pretty. Despite his new thoughts of his arm, his metal arm could use more of that -more pretty. 

His entire life could use more of that. It could be more pretty, softer, more peaceful. He hoped it would be more like today. Full of home and music, coated with a sparkling layer of glitter, particularly one that was stubborn enough to stay. But it seemed that it had not been his destiny. 

So, he’d be happy welcoming the moments that were coated in glitter. The ones that brought back that warmth that had been taken from him. And maybe he hadn’t articulated all of this yet to her, but he hoped he could in some way. Let her know that this new tradition she had included him in had made him happy. Had taken him out of his head and gifted him with moments he could treasure. Glitter coated moments.

Maybe one day he’d be able to tell her that with these cards, he’d felt the Christmas spirit he hadn’t felt since the last time he had one of those juicy Florida oranges for Christmas. 

But for now, as he tries to find the perfect words, he sends a smile her way, and the way her gaze softens has him hoping she’s understood.


	4. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will this new tradition bring on more than just Christmas cheer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!!! I really hope you enjoy this chapter. As always thank you so much for reading :D All cards mentioned in this series are inspired by Kristina Werner's Holiday Card Series. You can see pictures and a tutorial for this chapter's card [here](http://www.kwernerdesign.com/blog/holiday-card-series-2019-day-11-christmas-gnomes/).

Morning in Bucky and Sam’s place went a little like this. If they both happened to be home, then whoever woke up first took care of breakfast. This, of course, meant they would bang as many pots as possible, ‘accidentally’ close the cabinets a little too hard, to get the other to wake up. Today it had been Sam’s turn to make breakfast, so Bucky sat happily eating some pancakes on the couch watching the news as Sam finished up making his own stack in the kitchen.

“You’re,” there’s a tiny pause, and then Sam smiles a giant smile. “You’re humming.”

“Huh?” Bucky replies with a mouth full of pancakes. Not polite, but who cares.

“Come on, Barnes, don’t play stupid. You’re humming. What’s that about?”

“It’s Christmas, Wilson,” Bucky shoots Sam’s last name right back at him, pointing with his fork to the Christmas tree they set up a few nights ago. It has too many falcon ornaments for Bucky’s liking, but it was beautiful. An almost 7-foot Christmas tree Bucky had pretended was too heavy for him to carry just to let Sam help. “The real question is why are you _not_ humming?”

“First of all, it’s not Christmas. Second, move your ass that way, you know this is my spot.” He shoves Bucky aside with his shoulder, and Bucky obliges. It’s not worth the fight when Sam is the one making the pancakes. Sam _will_ cut the flow of pancakes. “And third, what are you getting me?”

With an eye roll, Bucky stands up. Not in the mood to give up their secret. “I already told you. Nothing. You’re getting nothing.”

He hears Sam take a call before he leaves to busy himself with drizzling some syrup on a new stack of pancakes in the kitchen.

God, he hopes the world isn’t on fire again. He has a card-making night planned for later, and he didn’t want to give it up. Is that selfish? It is, he knows, and he doesn’t mean to be, but come on!

Judging by the way Sam’s voice now sounds more like his Captain voice, it seems his night might be put on hold, or at least delayed a little. Apart from his super-soldier hearing, the tall ceilings of the apartment do very little to reduce the echo.

Sam and Bucky’s apartment is much more industrial than hers. Sam was mostly the one responsible for picking it out and furnishing it, Bucky being much too disinterested in picking out furniture or paint colors. And frankly, he had no idea what would make a good apartment. The last one he had in Bucharest was old and falling apart and only chosen to keep a low profile. It was hardly anything to brag about, and that was before Steve and whoever was following him came barging in and broke it down even more. And his time in Wakanda was spent on the outskirts of the city. So as long as it had four walls, a roof, and a door, he’d be happy. Sam, though, had a much longer list.

So, Sam had chosen an all brick-exposed, two-story loft. Black cabinets with silver hardware lined the kitchen. That had been a deal-closer for Sam. That was until he had seen the built-in bar that sat towards the back of the place. After that, his eye had bulged out of his head, and he almost signed the lease right then and there for whatever insane price they were asking and before checking out the top floor. It also had floor-to-ceiling windows, and although Bucky wasn’t looking for anything specific, that’s what ultimately had him agreeing to close the deal.

“Get dressed!” he hears Sam calling from his place on the couch, the morning suddenly taking on a less-than-calm vibe. “Sharon’s back, and Fury wants us there to get the intel.”

\---

“You haven’t told him, have you?” he hears her voice coming from behind.

The conference room is quiet, members of the team still filtering in, but he’s glad she’s here. She’s someone he can talk to as Sharon is too preoccupied with looking for Sam and Fury. She takes her place next to him, eyeing him with a playful suspicion. He hopes it’s playful.

“No,” he says, tapping his pen on the glass table in front of them. He freezes when her hand suddenly shoots out to grab his metal arm at his wrist, bringing it closer to her.

“You’ve still got glitter, Bucky,” her voice is happy and bright, bringing in warmth to the stale room as she takes a closer look in between the grooves of his hand. “It’s been three days!”

“Yeah, but this crap is impossible,” he grumbles a bit, pulling his hand out from her hold and looking around to see if anybody else heard. Nobody seems to mind them, though. Sharon is looking out the glass walls that surround them, annoyance clear at the fact that Sam and Fury are somewhere else and not here. A few agents are also there, but they mostly keep to themselves. “It’s everywhere, and Sam noticed.”

Her expression is much more serious after that. “What did he say?”

He hesitates because what Sam actually said is not really something he wants to repeat. Let’s just say he thought Bucky was having a different type of fun.

“Just said he didn’t remember asking for anything glittery. He thinks it’s from his gift.” He hopes he’s fast enough in replying to keep her from pressing any further.

“Well, it technically isn’t. So, I hope you set him straight.”

He set him straight, alright.

“But here,” she says, taking out some Kinesio tape from the backpack she brings to every meeting and training session. It’s bright blue, and they all hate using it, but sometimes after a hard mission or a training session, you just have to suck it up and wear it for some time. She peels the backing before wrapping it around her middle and pointer finger, sticky side out. “This should help get some of it off.”

She retakes his metal hand and begins gently patting the tape all over the palm of his hand. The glitter sticks to the tape and she perks her eyebrows when she sees him looking at her.

“I’m a genius,” she smiles.

“Well, aren’t you guys cute,” Sharon speaks out as she finally takes her seat across from them. She’s smiling, almost laughing at how much concentration they’re both exhibiting.

“This guy can’t take care of his arm properly,” she says in response with a sarcastic laugh. “Wait till Shuri hears.”

He’s more than grateful Sharon simply laughs, doesn’t ask anything more and gets distracted by her phone, because it wasn’t Sam’s card that did this to him, it was Sharon’s. And he doesn’t know if he can also keep a secret from Sharon when her card turned out so good.

Beside him, she’s still concentrated on getting the glitter off, her hand warming up the cold vibranium.

He’s seen this face before, full concentration on display with her brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. It’s the face she makes when she’s typing away on her computer, exploiting weaknesses in the computer system of wherever they were at, making sure he and Sam stayed safe on the ground. It’s also the face she makes when she’s out on the field, looking through the scope trying to line up the perfect shot. And recently, he’s discovered it’s the face she makes when she’s deciding where to place a greeting or a stamp. A look of ultimate concentration that only means the job is getting done.

“Maybe wear gloves next time, Buck,” she kids, but he takes her advice more seriously than she does. “We need to get some stuff for this next one, anyway, so we’ll get you a pair at the store.”

She chuckles, and her warm breath fans out on his palm. It’s sweet, he thinks before he can stop his thoughts from trailing.

“Who’s this one for again?” he whispers, eyeing Sharon, who’s still busy on her phone.

“Peter,” she replies in an equally quiet whisper taking note of Bucky looking over to Sharon. “We’re painting for this one. No embossing powder. Sorry, bud.”

“That’s the only reason I even show up, so don’t expect me for this one,” he laughs, but she gives him a little shove with her shoulder.

“Not so pure anymore,” she pouts, going back to removing the glitter with a drama-full sigh. “I thought I had more time.”

Sam and Fury walk in then, and she’s taken care of most of the glitter, so she stops, not before sticking the piece of tape she’s been using to his forehead.

“For even considering leaving me behind,” she teases before giving Fury her full attention.

\---

“What are you thinking?” she asks on their way to the store, fingers playing with the straps of her backpack.

The meeting left them both quiet. Their usual banter stalling as both process what would without a doubt be a mission they both wished they could skip.

“It’s going to be a long one,” he finds himself replying, the New York streets swallowing their conversation, dulling it out with police sirens, chattering pedestrians, and the always present flapping of city birds.

“Do you think our crafting is a valid excuse to stay home?”

“I don’t think so,” he smiles.

“Everything will be ok, though,” she says, half a step closer to him as she walks beside him, their hands almost brushing.

“Yeah, I think so too.”

It’s these quiet moments that make his heart beat a little faster. The moments that leave time for reflection and observation that go far beyond merely taking into consideration what possible dangers surround him. The quiet moments where he can get lost in his thoughts and she seems to notice.

“Really, Buck. We’ll be alright.”

The mission seems straightforward enough; it really does. But some details Sharon mentioned in the meeting had him immediately thinking about worst-case scenarios.

“Something doesn’t seem right,” he confides, their steps taking on a heavier feel as they’re weighed down by their sudden worry.

“It’s the location, isn’t it?”

“Same place Sam and I stopped by,” he confirms, glad to know he wasn’t just driving himself crazy. “The base caved in on itself. There’s nothing left. Trust me, Sam and I had to dig out of there.”

“Maybe somebody went back to check out the base, tripped a signal or something?”

They’re close to the store now, and Bucky can feel the relief brought on by the momentary distraction.

“We’ll be ok,” she says again before a cheerful welcome is offered.

“Hello, welcome to Michael’s.”

“Hi,” comes her smiling response, and the tension lifts from both their shoulders. “Some do spas,” she says quietly to Bucky as they walk past the greeter, “I do Michael’s.”

He gives her a laugh, and he doesn’t miss the way her eyes fill with sparkles. It may be the fluorescent lighting, but he likes to think it’s because she’s managed to pull him out of his thoughts and made him laugh. It fills his chest with warmth, and he isn’t mad at it. On the contrary, he seems to be welcoming it.

“Those coupons I’m getting you will come in handy then,” he teases, and a new wave of warmth invades his chest when he gets a laugh from her.

“I told you not to play with that!” she giggles. “But come on, B. We need to get some paints.”

“I did tell you I painted a little, right?”

She’s practically skipping as they make their way through the many aisles of the store. Her fingers are dancing along the colorful yarns that line the sides of the current aisle. The Christmas music playing from the speakers of the store just adding to the merry mood she’s managed to set.

“Uh oh,” she halts, giving him a side-glance. “I sense a ‘back-in-my-day’ speech.”

“Listen,” he begins, trying his best to form words through the bit of laughter she’s pulled from him yet again. “Back in my day, Steve and I used to paint, and we weren’t half-bad.”

“I believe you, B,” she says with a chuckle. “It’s why we’re painting a little tonight.”

“Oh my god!” a voice neither of them recognizes says, catching them both off-guard.

Some spies they were.

She’s dressed in the unmistakable Michael’s red vest, a look of disbelief plastered on her features.

“You’re…you,” she seems to be stuck for a second before she blurts out. “You’re Bonky Barnes! I mean, _Bucky_ Barnes! Bucky. _Bucky_ Barnes!”

“I am,” he replies, wondering whether he should be concerned or flattered that she’s recognized him.

“I’m a huge fan, and we’re not supposed to make our customers uncomfortable, but I just think you’re incredible and so brave, and so handsome — I mean you obviously know you’re handsome, how could you not know— but you’re here, in this store and my god, I think I need to take a seat.”

Flattered. He’s flattered.

Meanwhile, besides him, she has the biggest grin on her face because of course, she does.

“He can paint, you know,” she adds with a wink.

“I did _not_ know. My name is Emma, by the way,” the Michael’s employee responds with a smile, a proud look to her name tag. “And I can help you with anything you need today. I don’t just freak out, I promise. I also think you’re great.” Emma nods her heads towards the very antsy crafter by his side who simply beams.

“We’re looking for some watercolors —”

“And gloves,” she cuts him off, reminding him of the conversation they had earlier.

He knows Michael’s is her second home at this point, and she has a mental map of the entire store, but still, she lets Emma guide them towards the watercolors with a permanent smile on her face as Emma continues chatting about her love for them.

“Finetic Watercolors are always great,” Emma speaks as they turn onto the watercolor aisle. “They’re top-notch.”

“That would be wonderful,” she speaks beside him. “Do we need gloves, B?”

“We do not,” he replies as fast as he can before adding. “You’ve been amazing, Emma, thank you. Is there anything we can do for you to thank you for all your help?”

Emma can barely hold herself down, but to her credit, she takes a deep breath before speaking.

“I’d love a picture if that’s alright.”

And they couldn’t be happier to oblige.

There were those moments when the quiet gets to him. When he feels overwhelmed by his thoughts. And at times he feels maybe the noise brought by being part of such recognized organizations like SHIELD or the Avengers would be terrible. But other times —times like this— when somebody as sweet and helpful as Emma simply showered them with love, he was reminded that there are good people. Even if he only seems to interact with the bad ones more often than not.

So, leaving behind a thrilled Emma with a few pictures on her phone and a brand new watercolor set, they finally make their way to her apartment.

\---

“Gnome for the holidays?” he asks with his eyebrows furrowed as he reads the greeting she’s determined will be on the card.

Her kitchen island is again full of scattered crafting supplies.

“It’s for Peter. I think it’s cute! Look, we’re stamping these little cuties.”

She holds out two stamps of gnomes to him. They’re dressed in striped tights and tall hats with a little fluff ball hanging off the tip. They’re adorable.

She brings out some brushes then and lets him take charge of the card after a brief mention of finally letting him carry his own weight around here.

He can’t lie, he does try to impress her but its been a while since he’s used watercolors. Still, he convinces her not to use the stamp set, and instead have him paint on a cabin and a Christmas tree for the background freehand. He takes his time, feels the muscle memory kicking in as soon as his fingers wrap around the brush. Every now and then, he lets his gaze wander to where she sits beside him. Her eyes always meet his, lips turning up into a smile, almost teasing since he really isn’t half-bad with a brush — his careful strokes making the perfect gradients. To add the final touches, he borrows some white gouache she remembers she has stashed somewhere and paints on some snow.

Her eyes are bright when the background is done. She takes in every detail: the ornaments on the trees, the blending he’s done in the night sky and on the windows of the cabin. The room is full of wonder, and for the first time, he realizes it’s because of something he’s done. Previous times its been because she's taught him something or played music. But this time it’s because of him. Because of his painting.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, eyes wide. “I never doubted you for a minute.”

He can’t say no to the stamped gnomes. It would be a capital sin not to include the adorable little creatures, but as soon as she hands him the stamped cardstock, he can’t help but laugh.

“I don’t know how you did it, but this little guy looks like Peter!”

She’s laughing, laughing that laugh that has caused neighbors to bang on her door to quiet her down after loudly stomping over to her place. The one that has gotten him and Sam complaints from their super when she’s over. “No, he does not!”

“Look into those eyes and tell me that’s not Peter as a gnome. Go ahead, do it.”

She takes up the challenge, grabbing the piece of cardstock from his hand and bringing it to her face. Her eyes scan the tiny figure before another fit of laughter overcomes her.

“Put a fake beard and a hat on the kid, and he’s this gnome. I’m painting his little body red, as you know, an homage to his suit.”

He starts working on that. She works on the second gnome.

“Now, care to tell me why you didn’t let us get you gloves?”

Her voice is quiet, her look of concentration breaking as one of playfulness takes over.

He was hoping she wouldn’t ask, simply let it slide. But it’s her, so of course, she asks.

“I can take care of my arm,” he replies, a bit of a pouty response.

“Really?” she asks, lips pulling up into a playful smile, and she approaches him. Getting closer and closer until he breaks and confesses.

“AndILikeTheGlitter.”

“I knew you did,” she laughs a pretty laugh at his rushed response.

There goes his chest again, filling with that warmth only she seems to manage to bring out. He still doesn’t know how she does it.

But then it suddenly erupts, exploding into more than just warmth because she presses a quick kiss to his cheek. Barely there. Blink and you’ll miss it kind of kiss, but he definitely didn’t miss it. He definitely didn’t miss the way her soft lips pressed against his skin. And he’d be oblivious if he missed the way it still lingers with that warmth of hers.

Like he’s said, he’s not stupid.

He assumes he’s flushed by her reaction when she turns to him again.

“You ok there, B?”

“Never better,” he replies with the most genuine smile he’s ever given.


End file.
